


Exanthema

by shalako



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Fluffy, M/M, but we all know he's not, gold pretends to be above this sort of thing, silly relationship arguments, zombie movies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 15:12:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3534110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shalako/pseuds/shalako
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither Gold nor Archie really expected to ever argue over a hypothetical zombie apocalypse, but here they were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exanthema

**Author's Note:**

> I always imagined Gold and Archie as developing a relationship out of an initial friendship, instead of both of them going into it with crushes on each other. So this takes place shortly after they make the jump from friendship to something more serious. Also 'exanthema' is any eruptive disease, like measles. Or zombie-ism.

“You would definitely last longer in a zombie apocalypse,” Archie says over the sounds of the TV. It takes Gold a moment to register the words; he’s been zoning out ever since Archie turned on _Dawn of the Dead_ and trying not to let it show.

“Nonsense,” he says belatedly, only halfway-leaving his thoughts of rent collection. He needs to work out some sort of strategy for when the nuns inevitably rebel. “Although I hardly believe you would survive the walking dead, you’d certainly last longer than I would. You’re nearly ten years younger and completely able-bodied. Not to mention bigger, possibly stronger, certainly faster--”

“You’d put your cane right through the zombies’ faces,” Archie says, swinging his arms to illustrate. He makes a ‘splat’ noise with his lips as the invisible cane he’s holding crashes into a zombie head. Gold is not impressed.

“What do you think my cane is made of, solid steel?”

“Don’t act like you couldn’t do some damage,” Archie argues. He points the remote at the TV and pauses the movie, effectively killing the sounds of someone’s dying screams -- Gold tries not to show his gratitude. “You’ve got a gun too, don’t you? I bet you’re a perfect shot.”

“Hardly,” says Gold. He locks away all thoughts of the nuns and rent collection, and turns to face Archie directly. He pulls his legs up and stretches them out over Archie’s lap as he speaks. “Besides, the point of survival isn’t winning fights. It’s avoiding them. So it doesn’t matter how well I’d do versus a zombie, the point is, I’d never be able to out-run them in the first place. Whereas you--”

“Haven’t even jogged since high school,” Archie finishes, eyebrows raised. Gold scowls.

“But are fully capable of doing so, if necessary,” he retorts.

“ _Am_ I fully capable, though? Or am I so out of shape that I would just fall down after a quarter-mile and surrender myself to be eaten?”

“At least you’re capable enough to make it a quarter-mile,” Gold says with a scoff. He tilts his head back a little; he’s not sure when, but at some point, Archie decided to start massaging Gold’s bad leg. When they’d first started their strange little relationship -- Archie calls it a queerplatonic homo-erotic friendship, though Gold isn’t sure where half those terms come from and is more inclined to just call Archie his boyfriend -- Archie’s “massages” had been something to fear more than look forward to. But he’s gotten better over time, good enough to make Gold relax.

And to make conversation die out.

“Regardless of who would survive longer,” Archie says, leaning forward to press a kiss to Gold’s forehead, “and it would be you, I don’t think either of us is gonna win this argument.”

“It would definitely be you,” Gold says nonetheless. He doesn’t seem to realize that he’s almost glaring. “I would make sure of it.”

“Regardless,” Archie repeats with a grin. He gives Gold’s leg one last squeeze. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

Gold twists his neck to look at the clock on the wall, his eyebrows furrowed. “It’s only eight,” he says.

“I know,” says Archie. There’s a miniscule pause, and then Gold slides down further on the couch, making himself comfortable with a defiant air and a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

“I want to see the rest of the movie,” he says.

Archie looks scandalized. “You weren’t even paying attention!”

“Of course I was. I can tell you the entire plot, start to finish.”

Archie sits back on his haunches, exasperated. “Gold--”

“The dead rose from the grave. The living panicked. The living barricaded themselves in an old house. The dead--”

He’s silenced by a kiss, Archie’s lips warm and tender against his own. A little growl escapes him -- faux irritation -- but his fingers have found Archie’s shirt collar and are tangled there, knuckles brushing against the bare skin of Archie’s neck.

They break apart just enough for air.

“All right,” Gold says, a little breathless. “To bed, then. We’ll see who lasts longer.”

Archie’s grin is infectious.


End file.
